


Heaven in Your Arms

by BadassIndustries



Series: Dancing Through Life [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: A night in a Regency Ballroom, Alternate Universe - Complete Gender Equality, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regency, Ballroom shenanigans, Betaed, Dancing, Happytimes regency au, M/M, No Angst or Jealousy Whatsoever, Regency Romance, Unrepentant Fluff, period-typical homophobia? I don't know her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-01 06:11:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13288668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadassIndustries/pseuds/BadassIndustries
Summary: "Well, Monsieur Combeferre!" said Courfeyrac  "I am sure your dear family would blush to see you in such a state. Your cravat is positively rumpled! You must accompany me to the cloakroom and allow me to repair the damage, before you cast us all into ruin!"A ballroom in Regency times,the scene of dramatic flirtations and secret romance...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by and written for my lovely sister Sunfreckle, who is very smug this turned into such a long story instead of the short secret engagement snippet it was supposed to be.  
> Can be read independently and out of order with the other parts in this series.  
> Just for fun, all OCs have been named after Austen characters.

As the eldest child of the hosts, Courfeyrac had the honour of opening every _de Courfeyrac_ ball. This was an office he loved performing, as it gave him the opportunity for the kind of romantic theatrics he felt himself particularly suited for. He had very carefully evaded all those who could solicit the first dance in advance, so this moment of choice would have the most impact. He looked around the room for the lucky gentle who would dance the first quadrille with him. He saw, to his delight, Combeferre preparing to stand up with a young lady who was an aspiring natural scientist currently studying a variety of mosses and moulds. While Combeferre was as pleasant in company as one could wish for, he had a distressing propensity to join the old people in the card-room and talk to them about business or science. It did Courfeyrac good to see his friends employ his more gallant talents. Courfeyrac could be as serious and studious as the next person, provided that next person was likewise blessed with his energetic disposition, but a ballroom was a place for gaiety and amusements, not soil improvements. That, along with the need to keep their engagement secret, was why he and Combeferre chose to spend much of the evening circling around each other and not actually in each other’s company. Combeferre preferred to move along the fringes of the ballroom, enjoying good conversations and the occasional dance with one of his friends. Courfeyrac preferred to dance the night away with his many admirers, if he could not do so with his friends.  
Courfeyrac’s admirers fell roughly into two camps. Firstly, the optimistic new attendees, who thought they could charm the charmer into matrimony. The second, larger group was composed entirely out of persons who knew very well that nothing they could do could touch Courfeyrac’s heart, and that it was therefore quite safe to spend the evening flirting with him in an outrageous manner. This arrangement, though on the whole rather satisfying, did not stop Courfeyrac from finding continuous excuses to pull Combeferre to him and share a quiet moment with him, hiding from the world. But no such opportunity now. The quadrille was announced and the moment of truth was here. Courfeyrac made his most elegant bow for a young gentleman standing a little outside of his circle. Shyness so often hid the most fascinating characters, and this young man could do with a little time in the sun. He was rather adorable, in a Marius-like way, and made very pleasant conversation when properly encouraged. Courfeyrac could not wait to see how popular the wallflower would be after this dance.

~~

Almost as soon as the last strains of the quadrille faded, Enjolras appeared out of nowhere to throw his arms around Courfeyrac. Since he was generally not one for such vivacious displays of affection, Courfeyrac was immediately delighted and intrigued. He inquired what was the matter with his friend, but Enjolras would not say. He seemed to be blushing. The comely blush gracing his face was not the expected outcome of a mere introductory dance. Perhaps Enjolras had actually been affected by Mr Grantaire’s congenial company. Courfeyrac decided discretion was the better part of valour and that he would inquire how Enjolras’ first dance had gone later. At length, if necessary. Now he just let his friend take his arm and lead him away from his company of friends to a more quiet corner. If Enjolras would not supply the conversation, he would be happy to talk of how his own evening was going. A figure clad in red caught his eye as they were passing, supplying enough subject matter for several conversations. It was a Captain Crawford, looking very dashing in her regimentals. Courfeyrac looked longingly back at her. She was holding court in a corner, surrounded by chaperones and young gentles alike, with a roguish smile for everyone about her.

“I should have gone into the army,” sighed Courfeyrac. “I would look so charming in regimentals.” “Courf, my dear friend. You are French,” pointed out Enjolras, holding the hand that rested in the crook of his arm rather firmly, lest his friend get distracted further and dance off.

“I could have joined the French army,” said Courfeyrac with an air of unwavering optimism.

“We were at war with the French.”

“There’s that,” said Courfeyrac disappointedly. “At least I could fall in love with an officer and live an exciting life following the drum.”

“I hate to dash your hopes, but you would forever be trying to impress your lover with increasing feats of daring. You’d probably end up duelling someone and spending a fortnight in a sulk when you’d lose. Besides, you prefer your comforts and dislike being dictated to. The army would make you miserable. And you would pine without your friends.”

When Courfeyrac seemed a little put out to be so (accurately) described, Enjolras leaned closer and whispered in his ear. “So it seems your only option will be to imagine Combeferre in regimentals, and be perfectly happy in the company of your friends.”

This was indeed a very worthy vision. Courfeyrac quickly settled his one best friend in a corner, comfortably seated amid some friendly faces, and went in search of the other. What he encountered when he found Combeferre, however, was a terrible disgrace, which suited his plans perfectly.

"Well, Monsieur Combeferre!" –Courfeyrac had a very pretty way of employing titles to tease people into compliance— "I am sure your dear family would blush to see you in such a state. Your cravat is positively rumpled! You must accompany me to the cloakroom and allow me to repair the damage, before you cast us all into ruin!"  
When alone in the cloakroom, Courfeyrac demonstrated the way to properly return a creased cravat to its former glory. It was evidently completely necessary to thoroughly rumple it with vigorous enthusiasm, take the whole thing off and start anew. Combeferre, generally one to prefer a simple style, did not seem to protest this manhandling one bit. With every turn of the fabric, a kiss was pressed against his cheek as a reward for his enduring patience.

~~

An hour hence found Courfeyrac dancing with the son of one of his father’s trade relations, and suffering exceedingly for it. The man was nicely dressed, but did not move in the fluent way Courfeyrac did. Courfeyrac was a very pretty dancer, moving elegantly and lightly, only adding flourishes when the dance allowed it. His partner however, was showing off, and decreasing Courfeyrac’s joy in the dance visibly thereby. At least, it was visible for Combeferre, who had made a lengthy and involved study of every possible expression that could grace Courfeyrac’s face. That light but unmoving smile spoke of a dislike of his partner and the light cramp of his hand on his partner’s shoulder meant he was being moved about too roughly. With every waltz step he seemed to have a little less conversation, a little less sparkle. His partner seemed to have a great deal of conversation. Combeferre briefly entertained the fantasy of cutting in, freeing Courfeyrac from this bore and sweeping him away in a dramatic fashion. However much Courfeyrac would probably adore that, it could not be. Secrecy had to be maintained and civility remained necessary. The fact that Courfeyrac deigned to accept a dance request from this young man certainly meant that he was important to either his family or their cause. Courfeyrac did not entertain disagreeable people lightly. Luckily, he had chosen a shorter dance, meaning he would be freed soon. Courfeyrac really deserved a reward for being such a dutiful son. Or for any other reason that allowed Combeferre to hold his fiancé for a little while. It was very upsetting to see Courfeyrac being held by someone unpleasant and it must have been worse so for Courfeyrac. They both deserved a little respite. And secrecy enough for them to enjoy it.

But he mustn't complain. Courfeyrac’s had already promised him the last dance, which was more than they could get for most parties. He tried to turn his gaze to something else, anything that wasn't that man's hand holding Courfeyrac's hand too tightly. He ended up looking at the ceiling. About three infant Enjolrati looked back at him, frolicking among painted clouds. Well, properly they were called cherubim, but Courfeyrac had named them the Uncanny Enjolrati. Both of Courfeyrac's parents had been delighted with Enjolras when he had offered to sit for the painter as a tenth anniversary present. Redoing the ballroom had been their gift to themselves and this finishing touch made it perfect. They had called Enjolras their favourite son for a month. Courfeyrac hadn't even been mad, because the idea of their intense and focused Enjolras being turned into chubby little angels brought a smile to his eyes every time. Yes, much better to think about eleven year old Enjolras fidgeting in front of the painter as he sketched than consider how much Courfeyrac must be longing for the end of this dance.

~~

"Combeferre!" Courfeyrac called out in a perilous manner, from the great distance the country dance and their respective partners had separated them. "My partner for the next has done me a great injustice. He has insinuated that I am a callous flirt, for which insult he must be immediately punished!"

By this time he had actually reached his friend and could speak in a manner audible to only half the room.

"I gave him a sound scold and the scoundrel has fled. But I must not be seen to grieve his departure, so I have come to you. I have done with false flatterers and will while away the evening in the company of true friends."

Disappointed sighs could be heard around the ballroom, accompanied by frenzied and unanswered questions who this cruel tormentor could be.  Combeferre smiled slowly.

"It is fortunate then that my dance card is free, is it not? Truly serendipitous."   
With a barely hidden mischievous grin he made a bow towards his friend. "My dear friend, if you'll do me the honour of accompanying me in the _Annenpolka_ , I can pour the balm of friendship into your wounded heart, till all pain be forgotten."   
Courfeyrac made as if to faint from that piece of gallantry. Several of the gentlemen and some of the ladies standing behind him seemed rather saddened they did not actually have to catch him. They were all in turn bestowed with a twinkling smile, after which Courfeyrac returned Combeferre’s bow in the same manner, took his hand, and fell to dramatically miming tears on his shoulder.

The _Annenpolka_ was one of Courfeyrac’s favourite dances, which is why he whined at his mother and father until they agreed to make that the dinner dance.[1] The kicks and jumps delighted him, and the lightning quick polka steps gave ample opportunity for flirtation. Combeferre always knows to step in very close and to look at him with such a wonderful expression it always made Courfeyrac laugh. With every turn, Courfeyrac had the opportunity to press a little closer, stumble a little so he could grasp Combeferre a little tighter. He did not. The candles still burned too bright and the chaperones were still too eager-eyed. Instead, he danced and he laughed and made sure to bestow a smile on everyone turned their way to hide the fact that with every close polka he wished a little more he could just embrace Combeferre in front of everybody. His only comfort was that when the dance ended in a wild turn and they both stopped, panting from the exertion, Combeferre forgot to release his hold on Courfeyrac’s waist, staring into his eyes with a brilliant smile.

~~

"Did you see Florian Lucas, being the very soul of the party? He danced every dance and had to decline an offer!" Courfeyrac practically bounced on his seat, excited with his social success. It made him look a lot more like the excited ten year old he was twelve years ago than the elegant charmer he prided himself on being now. Combeferre was finishing his soup in record time, due to his efforts to conceal his besotted smile behind his dinner. "And I danced the Savage Dance with Captain Crawford, it's only a country dance, but such fun!"

Captain Crawford and Courfeyrac had found themselves very similar souls, both blessed by an extremely friendly disposition and a delight in pointless flirtation. Their first meeting had been rather like two cats circling each other warily, but happily they had soon decided to be friends and share the territory.

"And then I had to dance with that dreadful bore because Papa wants his fathers' vote on the hospital board. And he would go on and on about his curricle. And press my waist, merely to show off his strength." Courfeyrac looked truly unhappy. Combeferre pressed their knees together lightly in silent commiseration and looked about him. A little to his left, Enjolras was engaging a great deal of the table in a political conversation, which was loud enough to hide Courfeyrac’s words from the rest of the party. On Courfeyrac’s right were some older guests, mostly focusing on their dinner and Madame de Courfeyrac’s excellent wine. He moved closer, making sure he would be hidden behind the extravagant pineapple centrepiece.

"After tea, in the bustle of returning to the ballroom, come find me outside. I think we've both earned a reward for our dutiful behaviour." Courfeyrac showed his skill in mastering his emotions when it was truly important and only reacted with a smile and a quick touch of his hand to Combeferre's waist. For the next few removes they talked of the fascinating experiments Combeferre’s first dance partner was conducting and anything else that came up in their heads.

When the dessert dishes had been passed along to the other side of the table, Combeferre saw Courfeyrac glance at the remaining sweets on Combeferre’s plate. His own had already been devoured. Creating a distraction by pointing out the monstrous green and lemon gown of a lady sitting just behind him, he quickly placed a few of his sweets on Courfeyrac’s plate. His intent had been to foil Courfeyrac’s plans by stopping his thieving ways, but by the look on Courfeyrac’s face he had succeeded in being inadvertently romantic.

~~  
Combeferre took the tea he had just poured for himself and sat down to observe the elaborate tea ritual that always took place whenever Courfeyrac was responsible for handing out the tea things. He didn't have much patience for the task, preferring to leave it to his mother or any other who could with a winning smile be prevailed upon to take over. For as long as his patience ran, however, the order of who got their tea could be seen as a clear sign of favour. With every cup he served a smile, a compliment or a joke, and that personal attention was enough for ladies and gentlemen to hasten to the tea-things to be in the front of the crowd. To be snubbed during this ritual was akin to a death sentence to the young hopefuls. One such disappointed lover fell down in the chair next to Combeferre's.

“I swear I do not know how I offended,” said the lady with a very pronounced pout. “I hardly got to speak two words to him tonight, and yet I was cruelly passed over. And I still have no tea!”

Combeferre smiled at her kindly. “He can be capricious. Perhaps he merely took offense over nothing?”

“He would never do such a thing! ” the young lady earnestly interrupted him. “He is the kindest man I have ever met! How can you call yourself his friend and say such a thing!”

Very easily,  thought Combeferre, who had seen Courfeyrac offended at a smudge on his boots, the weather and the particularly adorable snout of a kitten. While he certainly understood the impulse of all these flighty gentles to fall at Courfeyrac’s feet in adoration, he always wondered how they could not see how delightfully silly Courfeyrac was, as well as kind and charming and clever and in possession of the most delightful dimples, which only appeared when he was contemplating some mischief. In fact, that dimple had been showing while Courfeyrac was bestowing his charms on the seekers of tea and attention, a sure sign he was meddling. Remembering everything Courfeyrac has spoken of during dinner, there was only one real possibility. Courfeyrac must have been interfering with Romance again.

“No, you are quite right,” he said to the now doubly offended lady. “I am sure Courfeyrac did not pass you over for no reason. In fact, the only reason I have ever seen him behave thus was when he was certain one of his friends the object of a _tendre_ and he always takes care not to step between two lovers.” This was not true. Courfeyrac behaved in this manner frequently, though never without reason. He once refused to speak to Combeferre for an entire morning, merely because his coat clashed with his trousers. Although, to be fair, that was the week that new treatise on silk production had arrived and Combeferre had perhaps been a little too absorbed to pay attention to such insignificant matters. The small falsehood was enough to bring the lady to a blush.

“Courfeyrac has a marvellous dislike for games of jealousy and prefers to stay out of them entirely. If he was sure you preferred another, it would explain why he did not entertain you tonight. Or perhaps, if he knew another cared for you…”

The young lady jumped up, dropped a hasty curtsy and ran off. Combeferre sipped his tea and smiled.

~~

"You didn’t actually send someone packing for calling you a flirt, did you?"

Courfeyrac sniffed and adjusted his collars, moonlight glittering the delicate diamond pin holding his elaborate cravat in place.

"No, it was only a clever ruse because I wanted to dance the dinner dance with you. But I would have," he sniffed, insulted at his own invention, "if any of my beaux or belles would dare say such a thing."

"Courfeyrac," Combeferre said, "you are the most shocking flirt I have ever encountered."

He brushed a hand over Courfeyrac’s hair, careful not to disrupt the curls. Courfeyrac leant into the caress like a cosseted housecat. Still being in view from the French windows, they reluctantly separated to a more acceptable distance. The mischievous dimples appeared.

"You would only be shocked if I stopped flirting" said Courfeyrac, advancing on Combeferre in a rather predatory manner. "In fact, I could. I could be as sober as Enjolras, or worse. Now that would shock you, wouldn't it?"

He had Combeferre cornered against a flowering bush, quite out of sight. "Please don't," Combeferre laughed, putting his hands on Courfeyrac’s waist and guiding him closer. "We'd all go deaf from the lamentations of your disappointed suitors. And besides, you know you cannot resist making people smile."  
"You will call on me in the morning, won't you?" The coaxing words were paired with Courfeyrac’s most charming smile.  
"Absolutely not," said Combeferre, pressing soft kisses to his cheekbones in turn and to his pout as soon as it appeared. "You know full well you'll be in a monstrous mood if any were to dare wake you in the morning. No, you'll have to pardon me. I'll call on Enjolras for his reports and we'll both call on you after you've had your chocolate and the first suitors to flatter you into good spirits." The pout reappeared again, for the sole purpose of exhorting another kiss from Combeferre.

 "I would prefer it if it were you come to press your suit."

"So would I, but you know very well what I'm like after an evening of dancing. I can pay you far better compliments after noon."

"I get enough compliments, I just want you with me."

"Well, I'm entirely at your service now, you'll have to contend yourself with that."

And they did, with great care and enthusiasm until the dancing started up again. 

~~

 

 

An imperious matron elbowed her way into the corner where Courfeyrac was lounging against a wall surrounded by his beaux and belles. She tried in vain to gain his attention in a delicate way, but he was too busy with coquetries to attend. He delicately plucked the nosegay from the coat of one of his nearby beaux, brought it to his face, making sure to glance impishly over it at the owner of the flower. He chanced upon seeing the Baronet pressing for his attention, and carefully averted his eyes to the flower. He delicately enjoyed it’s scent before carefully tucking it back in its owners coat. This young man looked about ready to sink to his knees – or propose.

“Mister de Courfeyrac!” she said loudly.

Since he could not continue to ignore her without exhibiting truly shocking rudeness, Courfeyrac now turned to her with a pleasant smile. “I am sorry Ma’am,” said he, “I did not hear you.”

“I asked you about the whereabouts of my child,” said the lady, with strained civility. Courfeyrac had in fact seen the Baronet’s only child slip over to the balcony, but as he himself was planning to escape to that refuge, he certainly wasn’t going to send that tiresome old dowd of a chaperone that way.

“I am afraid I have not seen them, but I’m sure they have merely sought to escape the crush for a moment.”

This did not pacify the Dame Prouvaire, who looked increasingly incensed.

“Or perhaps they have gone to the cloakroom.” He turned to the still blushing youth at his side.

“Frederick,” he asked with a beseeching smile, “did you not just say to me someone had torn the lace of their gown and had to excuse themself to mend it?”. The hapless Frederick nodded eagerly, grateful to be allowed to be of service. This was enough to banish the lady from their circle, towards the cloakroom in further search of their wayward child.

~~

Combeferre had taken refuge in Captain Crawford’s circle. Unlike some, the Captain did not need the medals on her chest to impress people. She managed that just on the force of her genteel personality and rakish charm. He had just entered a  conversation with the Captain and one of her friends about trade with foreign nations when he felt someone's eyes on him. In an unregarded moment, he turned around to see who was spying on his actions. As he suspected, it was Courfeyrac, pointedly ignoring a man with a suit so closely cut it must have been put on with the help of several attendants. Courfeyrac was pouting at him behind his fan, he was sure of it.  
A few moments later, Combeferre gallantly offered to procure some refreshments for those about him. He made sure that his path brought him close enough to Courfeyrac’s side to whisper something in his ear. "Perhaps I am as fond of a redcoat as you."

He made to sweep off in an imperious manner, certain that it would delight Courfeyrac. He always liked it when his friends indulged his taste for the dramatic. His exit was blocked however, by two young gentlemen gazing admiringly at the very man he was trying to sweep away from.

 "Do you think I should ask my tailor to make me a waistcoat in that same daring pink?" asked the first, sighing forlornly as Courfeyrac spun around, making his blue coattails shimmer in the candlelight. "I know it won't become me as well as it does him, but it's such an elegant style."

"It won't become you at all, until you spend some days in the sun," said the second, while admiring Courfeyrac’s southern complexion, which was set off by an elaborate snow white cravat.

"Easy for you to say," said the sadly pale gentleman looking enviously at his friend’s dark skin, "with your complexion you can wear any colour you like, even after being shut up in your book room for a twelvemonth!"

This delay allowed Courfeyrac to catch up with Combeferre at the refreshments table. While the footman poured their drinks, Courfeyrac turned to him with an arch smile.

“You will allow Captain Crawford to break your heart? And mine as well?” he said softly.

"Would you not like that, being rivals in love?" replied Combeferre, moving even closer. “I thought that would be the sort of ruse you’d enjoy, meeting in her parlour, fighting for her affections.”

The drinks were being poured with exceeding care, and such levity and attention that Combeferre was sure the footman was trying to give them opportunity to talk. He took it gratefully.

“Rivals in love?” Said Courfeyrac, considering it. “It is a delightful play on words. And it would most certainly waylay suspicion. But I could not set myself up as your rival. Not even for Suzanna’s sake. Secrecy I can manage, but animosity for you is quite beyond me.”

Courfeyrac looked about him carefully, but no one was attending. Their engagement was necessitated by familial pressure and fortune, but not in the common way. Both families would applaud the match greatly and nothing stood in between them but their desire to improve the world, coupled with the whims of an elderly aunt. Courfeyrac often called it a tragedy, but in all honesty Combeferre’s aunt Matilda was doing a fine thing for her grand-nephew and niece. Bemoaning the  cruelties of fate and fortune wasn’t half so satisfying when the reality was that announcing their engagement would not only delight their families, but also award them a sizable fortune.

Aunt Matilda had believed fiercely in the institution of marriage and also in forcing young people to take up employment. Therefore she had left a sizable fortune to the first Combeferre child to marry, but with the strict condition that the money would only be released to set up a business, school, institution or otherwise ‘start the young people up on a life of gainful employment, industry and wedded bliss.’ The exact phrasing of the bequest had been dissected many times and every time they came to the conclusion that the money sadly could only go to a business and _not_ their charitable society.

As it was Combeferre and Courfeyrac were fortunate enough to be able to marry without that money, but Combeferre’s sister Suzanna, while also the recipient of a sizeable portion, had long dreamed of starting a school. Her aunt’s gift would allow her to not only open her school, but also receive students with fewer means. A school of the arts and sciences, open to all regardless of background was a worthy enough cause to put off their engagement until Suzanna had found a partner. However, that meant that  Combeferre and Courfeyrac had to keep the secret for the entire season at least. This was very hard, but not impossible. While not being able to tell their parents of their happiness was a trial in endurance, Courfeyrac did like the secrecy and mystique of their “forbidden romance”.

Courfeyrac owned a very pretty fainting couch of blue crushed velvet. He had in the past often lamented the fact that he had such a strong disposition as to render it utterly unnecessary. In the past months it had at least finally gotten to fulfil its proper purpose in supporting Courfeyrac’s dramatic lamentations of star-crossed love. Most of his complaints centred around the fact that it bars them from dancing more than two dances together, which was a very distressing fact to both of them. The last dance, however, _was_ reserved for the both of them, from the first announcement of the ball.

 _The Grande Schöne_ called everyone to the dancefloor, the substantial ballroom filled with a grand circle made up of every person eager to dance till the last moment.[1] The sweeping music left enough time for everyone to find their friends and laugh at their curls drooped from exertion. The entire dance was whirling and fast, with ample opportunity to show off. Especially now, with the late hour reducing all the matrons and chaperones to lowered wakefulness. Courfeyrac spotted several of his more daring friends dancing with people their parents would not have approved of. He was certain he saw Captain Crawford stand up with the lady in the plum gown twice before. Courfeyrac smiled to himself. With so much camouflage, perhaps he himself might indulge in a little more shocking behaviour.

The opening of the dance did not leave him much time for mischief, but when the first movements were done, he had time enough to plot a scheme. The excitement of a _Grande Schöne_ was that one never knew which partner one would end up with, halfway through the dance. Of course the steps of the dance required one to go back the same way, but confusion was inevitable. Unless one carefully counted all the pairs and arranged oneself in a shrewd manner, that is. Courfeyrac had no intention of letting go of Combeferre for this dance, and plotted accordingly. He spotted Enjolras, stiffly leading a very young lady, both parties looking like they’d rather be elsewhere. Perhaps Courfeyrac might do them a favour while furthering his own ends. He looked around his immediate circle and found an appropriate target. When the time came to change partners and measured steps turned into chaotic skipping, Courfeyrac stepped out to early, took Combeferre’s hand and blocked Mister Grantaire’s path to his own partner, pushing him indelicately towards Enjolras. Enjolras seemed all too eager to receive a shocked Grantaire into his arms. Grantaire looked like the heavens had opened for him. Courfeyrac tried to hide his grin behind an angelic smile and pulled a quizzical Combeferre back into the dance.

Combeferre smiled and  put his arm about Courfeyrac’s waist and dashed him off into a waltz. Courfeyrac, considerably less tall in his dancing slippers than in his riding boots, looked carefully about him, and –just for a moment— rested his head on Combeferre’s shoulder.

 

**The end**

 

[1] Annen polka by Strauss, made in 1852, but we’re ignoring that for now.

[1] An der Schöne Blaue Donau, by Johann Strauss Jr. First performed in 1867, but it’s my favourite to dance, so this society already has it.


	2. Morning Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short coda to Heaven in Your Arms: The morning after the ball, Combeferre and Enjolras call on Courfeyrac

“Good morning, Courfeyrac. We have come to discuss yesterday’s events,” said Enjolras, striding into the drawing room and depositing his hat and gloves on a nearby side table without a care for the neat arrangement of the flowers his hat disturbed. Combeferre followed him in, and placed both their hats in a position less likely to ruin the arrangement or scatter their hats with pollen. He smiled at Courfeyrac, who was lying about on the sofa beaming up at him, and started his report.

“Thanks to your introduction at the ball last night, Enjolras has made great progress with Lord –” “I really did.” Enjolras interrupted him, with glowing excitement.

“He really seemed fascinated with our cause, if a bit cynical and I am sure I persuaded him to join us. We talked on the subject quite extensively, and he said –”

“Fie! This is no time for business!” exclaimed Courfeyrac, stopping the flow of Enjolras’ words with twinkling eyes and high spirits.

“How can you talk so, when we have much more pressing matters to attend to! Why, I’ve not been kissed for a full twelve hours!”

Enjolras and Combeferre looked at each other. Enjolras lifted an arched brow and dusted some imaginary fluff off his coat.

“I assume that remark was addressed to you, Combeferre, but should it be absolutely necessary, I could work myself up to great heights and mend that grave injustice.”

This was of course said in jest, but still gained him an armful of his high-spirited friend, who was in an instant busy peppering kisses on his forehead. Combeferre attempted to tap Enjolras on the shoulder, but failed because of his fiancé’s energetic movements.

“Mind if I cut in?” “Please,” said Enjolras, who had already reached his limit of over exuberant physical affection for the day.

“And if by that you mean you want your turn to kiss me, I kindly invite you to jump into a lake.”

With that, he deposited Courfeyrac in his friend’s arms and delicately averted his eyes when Courfeyrac accepted this change with delight and increasingly arduous kisses. After five minutes, he sat down and took up a newspaper.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and please let me know what you think! I'm working on more stories in this verse and I'd love to know what you guys would like to see!


End file.
